Real
by Pri Maclay
Summary: "I wanted to be here- To tell ya what a bastard y'are," Fi informs Michael on that first day in Miami. What was the real reason she came?


The phone rings just as Fiona's new boyfriend, Clement, settles between her knees.

"Let it go to voicemail," he tells her, voice husky, agitated by lust.

Fiona reaches out a hand to the bedside table, smiles into his chocolate eyes and tells him, "Can't. Could be a buyer."

Clement sighs, but knows better than to argue even after three short weeks. Instead, he dips his head to lick at her collarbone as Fiona answers the call. With her free hand, she runs her fingers through his brown sugar curls and thinks, idly, that she's more interested in the phone than her boyfriend and this is a problem that she doesn't care enough about. Then again, they both know this isn't a forever kind of thing. This is simple and meaningless- Easy.

"This is Fi."

"¿Tu habla Español?" a nervous voice asks.

"Sí," answers Fiona, then asks in the caller's language, "Can I help you?"

The voice on the line explains in rapid Spanish that her name is Maria; she's a maid at a motel in Miami. She probably shouldn't have snooped, Maria admits, but the man in the room has been asleep for so long and he is bruised so badly, she was worried. She looked in his wallet, but took nothing she swears to Fiona. There is an emergency contact card in the wallet, and this was the only number listed.

Fiona's heart misses a beat as she asks Maria for the man's name, afraid of the answer, knowing it before the maid replies. Roughly, she pushes Clement off her and gets to her feet, pulling clothes on rapidly as Maria confirms her fear.

"Michael Westen," Maria says, and Fiona knows life is about to get a lot more complicated.

The rest of the conversation is even more hurried than the first part. Fiona scrawls the name and address of the motel Michael is at, tells Maria not to call the police and to contact her immediately if he gets worse. Maria agrees, and they hang up. Clement looks at Fiona from the bed and raises an eyebrow at her.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"I have to go," she says, throwing some clothes in a bag, shoes tossed carelessly on top. She's about to reach for more when she stops, says, "To hell with it," and just grabs her wallet and passport. With Michael hurt and vulnerable enough that a maid could pick his pocket, they might need to get out of the country and fast. She could buy new clothes in Miami.

"Fiona." Clement's voice is irritated, but there's a measure of concern in it it as well. "Is everything okay?"

Fi shakes her head. "No," she replies, grabbing her keys and heading down the hall. Clement follows, still undressed.

"Are you coming back?" he asks her, curious.

She pauses just long enough to face him, because she owes him some kind of explanation and a good-bye. Clement's been a good boyfriend, the perfect Mr. Right Now.

"I have to go," she repeats, calmer this time. "It's an emergency." Fiona pauses. "I doubt I come back."

Clement pauses, takes this in and nods. "It's Michael, isn't it?" he asks. The surprises shows on her face, and he explains, "You talk sometimes in your sleep."

She's quiet for a moment, and then: "Yes, it's Michael."

Clement nods again. "You have to go. I get it. I'll lock up- I know where you keep the spare." He stops, appearing to debate with himself, and he adds, "It's been fun."

"Yeah," she says. "It has. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

A look of acceptance passes between them and then, Fiona walks out her front door. She doesn't look back.

* * *

When she lands in Florida, the sun is just starting to set. She rushes through the airport, grateful she can skip baggage claim. In the parking garage, she steals a car, then dumps it a mile from the motel and runs the rest of the way. As promised, Maria left a key hidden for her.

Fiona steps inside, wondering what she'll see. She reaches for the light switch, and the sight that greets her is not as bad as the one she prepared herself for. Still, tears spring to her eyes when she sees the bruises that cover most of Michael's torso and handsome face. He hasn't stirred at all since she entered, and this tells her enough for now. He is hurt, and he is hurt badly. She sits next to him on the bed, runs a hand over his face, her fingertips trailing over the scars.

Michael moans a bit, opens his eyes slightly.

"Fi?" he asks, drowsy, not quite awake, and she swallows hard at the hope, the affection in his voice.

"Shh," Fiona replies, urging him back to sleep, stroking his cheek. "It's me. You're safe."

Mumbling incoherently, Michael relaxes into her touch and falls back asleep. Fiona sighs.

_'Michael, Michael,'_ she thinks to herself. _'What have you gotten yourself into?'_

The truth is, she doesn't care what kind of trouble he's in or who she has to shoot to get him out of it. She's just glad to see him again, alive and in one piece. When Maria had called...

Thoughts of the call make her think of Clement, his nod of understanding, his simple statement that she had to leave and leave right then. But why _had_ she? She hasn't heard from him in years; she owes him nothing.

Leaning over him, she presses a gentle kiss to Michael's hairline. She knows exactly why she came, why she will _always_ come. Fiona reclines on the bed, facing him, and places a hand on his elbow. Michael is warm and strong beneath her skin, reassuring her that he's alright, he's alive. In the morning, she'll give him the hell he earned leaving her the way he did and never giving her heart back.

Tonight, though, she closes her eyes and breathes in his scent, touches her other hand to his chest where she feels a steady rhythm against her palm. He is near her, and the sound of his breathing soothes the worry of the last few hours.

"Fiona," whispers Michael, and she knows he's asleep, or at least mostly so, but she answers anyway.

"Yes, Michael?"

"Thanks," he says.

Fiona smiles, knows that if he does remember this in the morning, he won't acknowledge it unless forced to. This doesn't bother her. She's good at forceful.

Feeling herself begin to drift off, Fiona tries not to think about what tomorrow will bring for them. For tonight, he is hers again.


End file.
